


A Waiting Heart

by MaryRoyale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hermione Smut Submission Round Eight, Hermione Smut livejournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:43:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7264825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryRoyale/pseuds/MaryRoyale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George has always lusted after, er... *liked* Hermione, but she was Ron’s girlfriend and therefore untouchable. Even after Hermione and Ron split up George hesitated to make a move. With a little luck, and a few runaway potatoes, George might finally get his chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Waiting Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: A thousand million thank yous to Auntie_L for agreeing to beta this piece. I appreciate her skill and talent more than I can say (without beginning to sound a bit creepy). 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is going to come as a huge shock to all of you, but I do not own Harry Potter or any of his friends. (I wouldn’t mind owning a couple of his enemies, but alas, I do not own them either.) I claim that this piece is fair use under the Copyright Act, and no monies were received for this work. All rights and privileges are retained by the owners, etc.

 

There was one thing that all of the single Weasley men agreed upon: Hermione Granger was off-limits. It had sounded better than saying that she was Ron’s, or at least that had been George’s argument. He had assiduously ignored the knowing look in Charlie’s, Fred’s, and Percy’s eyes. Sometimes having a large family was not all it was cracked up to be. Unfortunately, no matter how they worded it Hermione _was_ Ron’s. If she hadn’t been there would have been no need to have a talk about it. George suspected that Bill had been responsible for _that_ little meeting even though he hadn’t been present because he wasn’t single. George rubbed absently at his temples. He needed to stop thinking about Hermione’s relationship status. In fact, he really needed to stop thinking about Hermione full stop.

That was the problem though, wasn’t it? George hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Hermione for years. She’d always been in the periphery of his world—just one of Ron’s friends. Annoying as hell at times, but they’d come to an understanding during her fifth year at Hogwarts. Then there had been that fateful summer before her sixth year. Forever burned in his brain was the wonder and admiration in her voice when she had said that his magic was extraordinary. Thank Merlin Fred had his wits about him and offered Hermione a Patented Daydream Charm for free. George had been slightly stunned and incapable of normal speech at the time.

“Mooning again, Gred?” Forge asked cheerfully as he bounced into the kitchen.

George rolled his eyes. “I’m not _mooning_. I was… thinking about the new _Amortentia_ -scented lube for the Wonder Witch line.”

“Uh-huh.” Fred’s head was stuck in the icebox, but it sounded slightly sarcastic and doubtful.

“I think we need to reduce the amount of _Amortentia_ that we use,” George continued stiffly. He could feel his ears get warm, and was grateful for the fact that Fred’s head was still stuck in the icebox.

Fred pulled his head out of the icebox at that and frowned. “Why?”

“It, uh, I think it’s too strong,” George muttered.

“Oh ho ho! Have you been testing it out on yourself, Georgie old boy?” Fred teased him mercilessly.

“No!” George blustered helplessly. He knew it was a useless protest. Fred and George might be able to lie through their teeth to everyone else, but they’d never been able to do so with one another.

Fred frowned thoughtfully. “You really think it’s too much _Amortentia_?”

George thought about his slightly sore cock, and the way he had frantically stripped it almost raw with the smell of _her_ wafting up to him and nodded tightly. “Yeah, just a bit.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” Fred muttered to himself. He glanced back at George. “Maybe you shouldn’t experiment with it anymore. We’ve got paid testers now, George.”

“I know,” George mumbled.

“I was thinking,” Fred began hesitantly.

George snorted. He was pretty certain that he didn’t want to hear whatever his twin was about to say. “Not now Fred.”

“But” Fred tried again.

“Not _now_ ,” George repeated forcefully.

“Right.” Fred sighed and ran a hand through his long, red hair. “Okay.” He sighed again. “Let’s go down to the shop.”

 

/\/\/\/\

 

“How’s life in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?” Ginny chirped as she sat down.

Hermione glared at her over her menu. “It is filled with improperly filled-out paperwork and Aurors who think that my life’s goal is to, and I’m quoting here, ‘roast their bollocks over a slow flame.’ How are your Harpies?”

Ginny snorted into her wine glass and grabbed a table linen to keep from dripping wine down the front of her robes. “Who the hell spoke to you like that? Did Ron hear them?”

“That was Ron,” Hermione informed her friend.

Ginny blinked. “Did you two… I thought you said it was an amicable split.”

“It _was_ an amicable split,” Hermione retorted drily. “That’s how Ron has always spoken to me. It should have been my first clue really.”

“Then why does he think you’re so focused on his bollocks?” Ginny demanded; infuriated on Hermione’s behalf.

“He thinks everyone is focused on his bollocks. Our Ron has a healthy ego,” Hermione countered and took a sip of her wine.

“Harry doesn’t speak to you that way, does he?” Ginny asked with a furious light in her eyes.

Hermione giggled. “Merlin, no. Then again he never dares to turn in improperly filled-out paperwork, especially not after I blew up at Nott. Actually, Ron is one of the few that even tries.”

“He thinks you won’t hex his precious bollocks off,” Ginny commented. She rolled her eyes and made a face. “And now we need to officially change the subject. I cannot go home to Blaise tonight and tell him I spent lunch with you talking about Ron’s bollocks.”

“He would be completely horrified,” Hermione agreed with a smile. “How is Blaise?”

“He’s fine,” Ginny replied and waved her hand airily. “He’s been in Italy a lot lately. His father’s family wants him to take a position with their company. His mother’s family wants him to come visit them in Morocco in the spring.”

“It sounds as though he’s very busy,” Hermione observed.

Ginny made a face. “They’re fighting over him like he’s some sort of toy. It drives me mental, but Blaise says that’s the way it’s always been with them. That’s part of why his parents fled to wizarding Britain.” She took another sip of her wine and eyed Hermione thoughtfully. “Have you given any more thought to my proposal?”

Hermione looked up from her menu with a frown.

“What can I get for you ladies today?” Their waiter materialized at their table with a polite, cheerful smile.

“I’ll have the lamb,” Ginny announced and handed over her menu.

“I’ll have chicken curry,” Hermione added and handed her menu over as well.

“Excellent,” the waiter murmured. “We’ll have this out in just a bit.”

“Thank you.” Hermione replied automatically.

Ginny watched the waiter hurry off with their order and then turned to glare at the woman she considered a sister. “Well?”

Hermione flushed and looked away from Ginny. “It’s ridiculous,” she muttered.

“It isn’t ridiculous at all! Harry agrees with me, by the way,” Ginny added with a triumphant look in her eye.

“You talked about this with Harry?” Hermione hissed across the table.

Ginny frowned. “What? Just because we aren’t dating doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. You and Ron are still friends.”

“Ginny.” Hermione paused and closed her eyes trying to bring her temper under control. Ginny meant well, Hermione knew that, but this was just going too far.

“George likes you,” Ginny continued.

“Yes, and we can tell because he’s asked me out so many times,” Hermione growled.

Ginny sighed. “Hermione, trust me, he likes you. I think the only reason he’s never asked you out is some warped sense of honour.”

One caramel-coloured brow arched in query, and Hermione leveled a fulminating glare across the table. “He hasn’t asked me out because it would besmirch his _honour_? What exactly are you trying to say about me?” She demanded.

“Augh! That came out wrong,” Ginny protested. She thought briefly about banging her head against the table, but decided against it. “Look… George is… well, he’s George.”

Hermione blinked.

“Here we are ladies.” The waiter appeared next to them and placed their orders down.

Grateful for the interruption, both women made polite noises at the waiter. He topped off their wine, flirted briefly with both of them, and then left them to their meal.

“Ginny, you know that you’re one of my best female friends, right?” Hermione asked. She tilted her head to the side and waited for Ginny’s nod. “Just because Ron and I didn’t work out doesn’t mean I’m going to toss you or your family by the wayside. I’ll still keep coming to family dinners and whatnot. Your mother has already warned me that I can’t get rid of all of you that easily.”

“I know that,” Ginny protested.

“Then why are you trying to toss me at George?” Hermione demanded. “He doesn’t want me—to him I’m just the prefect who made his life difficult in school.”

Ginny snorted. “You are not. You’re also Ron’s and Harry’s best friend.”

“Oh yes, let’s not forget that.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “How could I have been so blind? _Of course_ George wants me. I’m his little brother’s best friend. Really Ginny?”

Ginny flushed. “When you say it like that it sounds silly,” she muttered.

Hermione sighed and reached across the table for Ginny’s hand. “Gin, I appreciate that you care about me. It means a lot—it really does. But, and I say this with all the love in my heart, you have got to stop trying to set me up with your brothers. You and your mum are going to have to settle for me being an _honorary_ Weasley. If it’s good enough for Harry, it’s good enough for me.”

“Fine.” Ginny huffed a little and then began to poke at her lunch.

Hermione hid a smile and began to eat her curry.

 

/\/\/\

 

 _Look, but don’t touch._ _Look, but don’t touch._ George kept repeating that phrase over and over to himself, but it didn’t help at all. His fingers itched to stroke the skin he knew was silky soft. His skin prickled with the need to be near her, to touch her. His cock grew heavy and ached when she innocently brushed against him as they passed by one another in doorways. The fleeting press of her bum against his hips or her breasts against his chest as she slipped by haunted his dreams. The slightly spicy smell of resin mixed with the bitter smell of ink that seemed to linger in her hair never failed to make him hard enough to pound nails, especially after that stupid _Amortentia_ -laced lube.

“George?”

He blinked for a moment. “What?”

Fred snorted next to him. “Mum wanted to know if you were coming to dinner next Sunday. She sent Hermione here to get answers because we kept ignoring her owls.”

George’s face flushed pink and he shot a glare in his twin’s direction. He turned back to Hermione. “We were doing a time sensitive experiment,” he mumbled.

Hermione smiled and nodded. “I thought as much. I told your mum that’s what it probably was, but you know how she worries.”

“Yeah.” George knew that Hermione was right. Mum worried about all of them, and any lack of communication was grounds for a full-blown panic attack.

“So… Sunday?” Hermione looked from George to Fred with a polite smile.

“Are you going to be there Hermione?” Fred asked with an over-the-top lascivious smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Of course I am.”

“Then we’ll be there,” Fred said with a ridiculous eyebrow waggle.

Another roll of her eyes, and a shake of her wild hair, and she was gone. George punched Fred in the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?” Fred demanded.

“Did you have to…,” George waved his hands about in the air. “I don’t even know what to call what you just did.”

“I was teasing her,” Fred informed his brother. He smoothed the front of his robes and frowned at his brother. “Georgie… she’s single and she’s a fit bird.”

“But Ron” George muttered.

Fred turned pink. “Well it’s not like it matters anymore. Ron’s taken up with Lavender Brown, and they’re going to be married next summer.”

George blinked. “It doesn’t matter?” His voice was deceptively calm, but the pink flush of rage that was beginning to turn the tips of his ears red was discernable.

“Well…”

Fred was visibly flustered, which was almost enough to give George pause. Of the two of them Fred was always cool, calm, and collected. He was the smooth one. Not that George was by any means a yammering prat, unless he was around Hermione. Then all bets were off.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” George growled before he stalked out of the room.

Left alone in the room Fred sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Those two are going to be the death of me,” he muttered.

 

/\/\/\/\

 

“Hermione dear, will you go out to the broom shed and get me some potatoes?” Molly asked and shoved a large basket in Hermione’s arms and turned her in the direction of the old broom shed.

Hermione hid a smile. Molly was just a little bit frazzled. Charlie was supposed be bringing ‘someone special’ to dinner, and the Weasley Matriarch was anxious that everything be perfect. Poor Molly—she didn’t realize that the charm of the Burrow was that it _wasn’t_ perfect. It was jumbled and untidy, but it was warm and homey. She hummed absently as she made her way to the broom shed swinging the basket as she picked her way across the yard.

The door of the broom shed was sturdy and a bit heavy for Hermione alone. She struggled to pull the door open, and once she managed to get inside the shed, the door banged shut behind her making her jump slightly. She sighed and looked around. Light filtered through the small windows up near the roof, but it was still fairly dim in the shed. There was a root bin in the corner and Hermione maneuvered her way around several of Arthur’s experiments to get to the corner. She propped her basket on top of what appeared to be a washing machine and began to fill it with potatoes.

“Bloody hell!”

Another loud bang of the door made Hermione jump again jostling her basket and scattering potatoes all over the floor of the shed.

“Oh no!” Hermione cried and she tried to grab the basket before it hit the ground. There were a few potatoes in the bottom, but the rest had rolled into all the dark corners and recesses of the shed. She turned to glare at whoever had startled her. “Look what you’ve done! Molly’s going to kill me,” she moaned.

“Blimey, I’m sorry Hermione.” George couldn’t believe his bad luck. He’d slammed his hand in the door, and then he’d scared Hermione and made her spill whatever it was Mum had sent her out here to collect. Some days a bloke couldn’t win for losing. “Here, I’ll help you.”

“What happened to your hand?” Hermione asked when she noticed him cradling it against his chest.

“Slammed it in the door,” he muttered.

“Give it here,” she demanded and held out a hand.

Reluctantly, George allowed her to take his hand. Her fingers delicately prodded his hand and he barely remembered to hiss in pain when she managed to hit a sore spot. The feel of her fingers stroking his skin, touching him, was enough to make him forget he even had hands let alone that one of them ached like the devil.

“It looks to be all right,” Hermione decided at last.

“Does it?” George asked and then cursed his voice for betraying him with its husky timbre.

“I think you’ll be fine, George,” Hermione assured him and patted his arm. She let go of his hand and looked around the shed. “Can you help me get all of these potatoes for your Mum? She’s going spare about Charlie’s guest.”

“Of course,” George replied. “It’s my fault you dropped them in the first place.”

In hindsight, George suspected it probably wasn’t the best idea to spend time in a dark, secluded place while Hermione crawled around on her hands and knees in front of him. Her round bum wiggled as she hunched down to get under one of his Dad’s experiments and George’s eyes nearly crossed.

“Hermione, move out of the way and I’ll get it,” he managed to get out.

Hermione shimmied out from under the experiment and sat back on her heels with a triumphant grin. “No need, I got it,” she informed as she held up a potato as though it were some sort of prize. She frowned and leaned toward George. “Are you all right?”

 _A smudge of dirt on someone’s cheek should not be sexy, damn it_. That was the last coherent thought George had before he grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and glared at her.

“No,” he growled at her. “I’m bloody well _not_ all right.”

Then he leaned down and kissed her. Hermione gasped in surprise and George used that to his advantage. He mapped the inside of her mouth with his tongue, swallowing all of her sighs and half-strangled moans greedily. When he finally came up for air they were both panting heavily and George felt light-headed. Hermione stared up at him with a dazed expression and guilt flooded George.

“Merlin, Hermione, I’m sorry,” he muttered. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and looked anywhere but at her kiss-bruised lips.

“You should be,” Hermione informed him frostily.

George’s stomach dropped and the guilt grew. He turned to face Hermione who was scowling at him. Great. She hated him. Maybe he could go open a branch of WWW in Siberia.

“What took you so long?” Hermione demanded right before she pounced on him.

It took George several minutes longer than it should have to realize that Hermione’s arms were wrapped around his neck and she was kissing him back with everything she had in her. Her teeth tugged at his lower lip and her tongue slid against his in a way that made him growl and pull her closer against him. His fingers slid up under her shirt, caressing the skin of her back. He pulled away from her lips reluctantly and stared down at her.

“Are we… is this happening?” George asked hoarsely. It might make him an idiot, but he wanted to know that she wanted this as much as he did.

Hermione grabbed his jumper and tugged him down until his face was inches from hers. “I want you, George Weasley. What are you going to do about that?” She challenged him with a little smirk.

That was all George needed to hear. He lifted Hermione and pulled her into his lap. Her fingers slid into his hair and pulled his lips back to hers. George slid his hand back under her shirt his fingers nimbly working the hooks in her bra. Once he felt it release he slid a hand around the front to cup one full breast and tease her nipple until it stiffened.

“George,” Hermione gasped into his mouth.

The sound of Hermione moaning his name made George’s blood sing. He smirked against her lips and pinched her nipple. She squeaked and bit his lower lip. Hermione began to tug on his jumper, pulling it over his head. He helped her pull off her shirt and bra and tossed them over his shoulder. George bent his head and captured a nipple between his lips. Hermione moaned helplessly. Her fingers slid into his hair again and she tugged.

“George, please,” Hermione begged.

He kissed her again. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” George murmured. “I’m going to make this last, love.”

A small growl of frustration was George’s only warning. Hermione pushed him back and began working on the buttons on his jeans.

“I hate buttons,” Hermione muttered. “Zippers are ever so much easier.”

“You could always come visit me at the shop,” George offered with a cheeky grin. “Those magenta robes offer easy access.”

Hermione glared at him as she wrestled with a particularly obnoxious button. “Don’t think I won’t,” she retorted.

It had never occurred to her that George might be attracted to her—that he might _want_ her—and now that she knew the truth she had no intention of allowing him to slip away. His kisses drugged her senses and the feel of his calloused fingers sliding over her skin made her crazy. She gave a little cry of triumph once she finally wrestled his jeans off of him, and he gave a low, throaty chuckle in reply that made her shiver. She slid her own jeans over her hips and straddled him again. The hot, heavy length of him was pressing against her insistently and she rocked against him experimentally. She was rewarded with a low, broken moan.

“Merlin, Hermione,” George ground out.

“Still going to make me wait?” Hermione teased and she rocked against him again.

George growled against her neck and thrust upwards rutting against her. She reached down between them and grasped him firmly. He moaned and shuddered as she guided him into her. She bit her lip as he filled her almost to the point of pain. George was panting and gripping her hips tightly.

“Please, Hermione,” George begged shamelessly.

“For the love of Merlin, move,” Hermione pleaded.

The moaned together as George shifted and moved against her. Soon they figured out a rhythm that worked for the both of them and Hermione rolled her hips as George rocked up against her. She clung to his shoulders as they moved together and bit her lip to keep from moaning so loudly that everyone came running. Every thrust from George and every roll of her hips increased Hermione’s pleasure until she thought she might explode. She could feel everything contracting so that it was just her and George and nothing else. His heart was pounding against hers and they were panting in sync. She could feel George getting closer and closer and she could feel her body following him.

“Hermione?” It was a strangled plea and Hermione knew exactly what he was asking.

“Yes,” Hermione panted. “Now, George.”

White light filled Hermione’s vision as she fell over the edge. She could feel George’s fingers tighten on her hips and she welcomed the slight pain because it grounded her and kept her from floating away.

“Hermione?” Molly’s strident tones made both George and Hermione freeze and stare at one another in horror. “Where are my potatoes?”

“I’m coming, Molly,” Hermione called back.

George grimaced. “There’s a phrase that’s going to haunt me,” he informed her.

Hermione smacked him on the arm. “Shut up and help me find the rest of these potatoes.”

“Whatever my lady wishes,” George replied dutifully.

Hermione paused in the middle of tugging her jeans back on. “Am I?” She asked curiously.

“What?” George turned to face her. She was watching him warily.

“What is this?” Hermione gestured between them. “A quickie in the broom shed?”

“No!” George protested. “I like you, Hermione. Quite a lot, actually.”

“So why have you never said anything?” Hermione asked as she wriggled back into her bra and pulled her shirt on.

George buttoned up his jeans and tried to work out the best way to explain himself. “I didn’t want to… you liked Ron,” he explained.

“Ron and I haven’t been ‘Ron and I’ for over two years,” Hermione pointed out.

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t pining over him, or something,” George offered.

“Pining? Over _Ron_?” Hermione blinked at her in shock. Then she started to giggle. Soon she was leaning against one of Arthur’s experiments laughing hysterically.

“Hermione?” Molly was pounding on the door of the shed. “Are you all right in there? Why is the door locked?”

“Locked?” Hermione’s voice rose and she could feel heat rise in her cheeks.

George fumbled with the door, and pushed it open. “Sorry, Mum. I came out here to get something for Dad, and I slammed my hand in the door. I think it got stuck.”

“I told Arthur to fix that door,” Molly muttered under her breath. “Let me see your hand.” She squinted at it thoughtfully. “It looks like it just needs a bit of your bruise paste,” she announced.

“Yes, Mum,” George replied.

“Hermione, have you got those potatoes?” Molly demanded anxiously.

“Yes, Molly.” Hermione hefted the heavy basket in her arms.

“Come along.” Molly commanded. “We need to get them started.”

Hermione trailed after Molly with the heavy basket, but George stopped her and tugged the basket out of her arms. She arched a brow at him, but he just grinned at her and pointed his wand at the basket. It levitated behind Hermione dutifully and George began to whistle cheerfully. She rolled her eyes behind his back and followed him into the house. George set the basket where Molly directed and helped Hermione peel potatoes.

The two of them worked in companionable silence as Molly bustled around the kitchen muttering under her breath. George nudged her toe with his, and Hermione looked up to see him smirking at her.

“So, if you’re not pining, then you’re okay with this?” George whispered.

Hermione smirked back at him. “More than okay,” she assured him.

George started to whistle again as he peeled potatoes.

**Author's Note:**

> This was only posted on lj and Granger Enchanted (may she rest in peace).


End file.
